


the worst of us

by spaibbys



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, M/M, things get worse before they get worse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaibbys/pseuds/spaibbys
Summary: They say you can find the good in anything if you try hard enough, so George looks for the good in the apocalypse.The apocalypse is good because everyday is new, different, and exciting. The other day, George saw a rat that died with its teeth latched into rotten skin, swinging back and forth with every lurching step the zombie took. That’s new! And different! The excitement came from the zombie noticing George and chasing him down the road as George, no bullets, tried to meet up with Sapnap again.-It’s the end of the world, and George and Sapnap are on a road trip. They’re searching for Dream, but it’d be real fucking convenient if they could find salvation on the way.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	the worst of us

**Author's Note:**

> after my honest attempt to keep this fic 1 part, it still ended up getting split up!
> 
> dont like, dont read + antis please leave me alone ✌︎( · ‿ｰ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: guns, blood, people die, animals die

Keeping watch is near the top of his least favorite things; George can’t _do_ anything–he just sits in the car and hopes nothing awful happens. It’s torture. He’d rather be the one chased by zombies.

George fidgets with the trigger of a gun. The weight in his hand is comforting, in a strange and possibly sad way, and it keeps him grounded as he stares endlessly out the windshield.

He heard screaming a couple minutes ago, which significantly worsened his experience as car-keeper. While it didn’t sound like Sapnap, George can safely say screaming is never a good thing. The responsible thing to do here is stay in the car, make sure no one robs them, and trust that Sapnap knows how to handle himself. 

George gets out of the car.

He takes one step away from it before he catches something in the distance, growing closer. George’s hand returns to his gun for an entirely new reason. 

As the figure approaches, though, he’s able to make out what–or who–it is.

Sapnap’s face is filthy with dirt or blood or both–George can’t tell the difference. His pants are ripped. He’s limping. He’s alive. It’s the sexiest sight George has ever laid eyes on.

They’re close enough now that George could reach out and give him a hug if he wanted to. His limbs move on their own, and his fingers barely graze at Sapnap’s cheeks, skin sunburnt and covered in a layer of grime that is unfortunately so, so attractive.

“Happy to see me?” Sapnap teases, and George immediately drops his hand.

“You’re an idiot. Come on, let’s keep going.”

-

To recap, George flew out to America a week before the disease affectionately nicknamed turning into a zombie spread across the world. Keeping the rest of the month in mind, it was a really nice week. George can look back at playing tourist and eating grilled food fondly.

The original plan after that had been, stay a while with Sapnap before the two of them flew to see Dream together. And then the whole apocalypse thing happened, and while most aspects of George’s life changed drastically, the plan was more or less still the same: get to Dream.

So after the cell towers went down and they lost contact with most everyone (especially those in, say, Florida), George and Sapnap began their drive halfway across America, searching for Dream and, more optimistically, an end to this nightmare. 

When George checked the map last night, they were a couple days away. It’s almost over. He doesn’t know how he should feel–excited, terrified, melancholy, fucking terrified are all worthy contenders.

-

They say you can find the good in anything if you try hard enough, so when he isn’t looking for food or looking for Dream, George looks for the good in the apocalypse.

The apocalypse is good because everyday is new, different, and exciting. The other day, George saw a rat that died with its teeth latched into rotten skin, swinging back and forth with every lurching step the zombie took. That’s new! And different! The excitement came from the zombie noticing George and chasing him down the road as George, no bullets, tried to meet up with Sapnap again.

Also good, the apocalypse has given the two of them a lot of quality time together. A month ago, George never would’ve imagined waking up to Sapnap’s face everyday (which isn’t nearly as romantic as it sounds because it’s almost always the middle of the night, and Sapnap almost always passes out after mumbling, “Your shift.”) That aside, they still eat together, drive together, sleep together–it feels domestic in a way only two men living out of a car can.

-

George doesn’t need to live with Sapnap for a month to know the guy is transparent with his nerves. His knuckles are white with his grip on the steering wheel, and he stares unblinkingly at the empty road ahead. Not that George isn’t nervous, but he isn’t the one driving. He should lighten up the mood.

“Do you wanna play Would You Rather?”

“No.”

“Sapnap.”

“What? I’m driving!”

“Drive and talk.” Sapnap doesn’t reply, so George takes that as compliance. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or five duck-sized horses?”

“Horses.” Sapnap rolls his eyes. Tough crowd.

“That’s fair. Now take your turn.”

“Would you rather I crash the car or stop playing the game?”

“Sapnap!”

“What?!”

After a little bit of encouragement–come on, just go along with it, it’s just a game, it won’t kill you–Sapnap does relax a little. He even cracks a smile when George has to choose between licking peanut butter or drinking water off the floor.

“Here’s an easier one, then,” Sapnap says. “Would you rather pick me or Dream?”

“For what?”

“I dunno, just pick one of us.” He keeps his voice casual, but his side-eyeing betrays him.

“I’d pick you,” George answers, “to lick peanut butter off the ground.”

It’s not the answer he wanted. Sapnap looks like he wants to push more, but he doesn’t. He shrugs, “Alright, cool.”

George never knows when to stop. “What about you? Who would you pick? Which of us do you prefer?”

“You’re gonna ask me that after you literally just dodged the same question?”

“Well–when you put it like that–”

They stop.

-

On the other hand, the zombie apocalypse has a lot of bad. The good, George has to actively look for. The bad finds them.

It’s why they avoid metropolitans whenever they can. Big cities means more people, which means more survivors, which means more survivors trying to fuck you over. Death brings out the worst in people. If things aren’t looking too hot, which they never are nowadays, people will do anything to get an edge over you.

They learned this the hard way a week into their roadtrip. Sapnap drove the two of them through a city just because it was the quickest path on the map, and someone shot out their tires. Two loud gunshots echoing down the road, and their lives were suddenly in peril.

George was the first to realize what happened. He looked out the window, saw a head duck down into hiding, looked down at the ground, and saw the deflating tires. They didn’t used to be as prepared as they were now; all of their supplies were scattered around in the trunk, and they weren’t even armed. The shots attracted zombies, and it became a scramble of grab whatever we can and get the fuck out of here. They lost a lot of food to that stranded car and swarm of zombies. It makes George’s blood boil thinking about it.

He’s run the scenario through his head time and time again. The person–bitch, shitface, pig, dumbass, whatever he feels like calling them that day–shot their tires because they wanted supplies and were too pussy to shoot them in the head instead. Maybe a week later, shitface shows up to the car to collect whatever remains of their food, rounding up the straggling zombies on the way, getting all excited over a few sticks of jerky and dried food. 

It’s a means of survival. That doesn’t mean George can’t imagine beating shitface to a pulp in his free time.

-

Death brings out the worst in people. Right, covered.

Death also brings out the animals. Rabid and infected dogs and wolves, scavenging rodents and vultures, coyotes. Some zombies lug around with rats under their skin, picking away at the flesh that’s still edible. Some vultures circle above you when you’re not even dead yet, waiting. They can smell the death in the air.

An animal George recently learned about: coyotes. They’re tough little fuckers, and they’re everywhere. In between looting deserted buildings and hunting food, George raids local libraries, and he happened to pick up a book about them. Coyotes are survivors–they’ll fight for what’s theirs and eat everything, even each other. They’re adaptable, too; the apocalypse doesn’t bother them. It gives them more food. If there was a ranking system for animals with the most will to live, George bets coyotes are at the top. (Depending on his mood, George would put himself and Sapnap either in second place or last place on this list.)

The closest encounter George has with a coyote is when he found one pinned under the scrapped metal of a car. It must’ve been sniffing at the two corpses inside before the roof collapsed. Maybe it was bad luck, maybe its tail swung the wrong way. It was wiggling, whimpering a little when George drew closer. It was fighting for its life, even at the bitter end. But there was no wiggle room. There was no escape. It was a trap the world set for no reason other than fuck you for trying to survive. Is it ridiculous of George to look at a dying animal and make a metaphor out of it? Yeah, probably, but the zombie apocalypse will do that to you. Makes you all introspective.

Sapnap was sitting at the wheel, waiting. “Hurry up, and kill it already, George.”

He did.

-

A hand shaking his shoulder. “George, wake up.”

He fell asleep on the drive again. George cracks his eyes open. Sapnap’s driving. “Shouldn’t you keep both hands on the wheel?”

“We’re almost there.”

That sobers George up real fast. He sits up, stretches, and looks outside at the broken shop windows and abandoned buildings. They’re definitely in a city.

Sapnap knows this too. He says, “We should stay on high alert.”

Despite being in the correct city, they’re still a considerable distance from their destination. All the more time to spend anxiously anticipating their arrival. 

George has found American cities are like that, the distinction between the urban and suburban, where people are and where people live. According to the map, Dream lives in the suburbs, the more isolated areas, which is good because there should be less zombies and bad because there are definitely less supplies.

Now there’s two people high-strung on nerves in the car.

Think about anything else.

-

A running list of things George can’t stop thinking about:

1\. His cat. He’d left her with enough food to last two weeks, which was how long this trip was going to be initially. It has been two months since he’s last seen her. He misses cuddling with her on the couch or running his hand along her spine and down her tail. House cats don’t survive well in the wild, so she’s probably dead now, which is worse to think about.

2\. He and Sapnap have been listening to the radio. There’s been nothing but the occasional, hopeful, “Is there anyone left out there?” followed by more silence. It’s very possible there is nothing left out there, no miracle drug or bunkered haven to escape to, even after (which is a when, not if) they find Dream.

3\. When George was younger, he and his mother would play a game she named I Forgot! The game was simple; they would take turns reminding each other of important things. He would remind her she needed to take out the trash or her medications, and she would remind him he has to drop off the library books or study for the test the next day. He plays much the same game with Sapnap nowadays. At every moment of hesitation, any doubt they want to get up in the morning, they get the same reminder. Remember, George, we’re gonna make it through this, we’re gonna survive. Come on, Sapnap, get up, we’ll keep going. There’s something we’re reaching for at the end of the tunnel. They keep each other alive.

4\. All five pixels of Dream’s face in the dark, illuminated by his computer screen. He says something, and ah, there it is again. George’s heart does a painful little twist. Here’s how it goes–

“Tell me again.”

“What’s the point if you’re not gonna say it back?”

“Tell me again. Please.”

“What’s the point?”

“I want to hear it.”

“...Alright… I love you, George.”

-

Something lighter to reminisce about:

The worst injury either of them had gotten was the time Sapnap got shot in the shoulder. He’d bled a lot, and George, already feeling woozy at the sight, had to dig into the wound with a knife and his hands to pull the bullet out. It was a terrible afternoon, and afterwards, Sapnap had passed out while George threw up onto the side of the road.

It didn’t even end there. The wound got worse. George spent two days feeding Sapnap every kind of antibiotic they had in the first aid kit and counting down the hours between changing bandages, but it wasn’t enough. By day three, Sapnap couldn’t stay awake for more than ten minutes. George strapped him into the backseat and wrapped him in blankets when he complained about the cold and searched for help as he drove.

Help ended up being a building with lights peeking through its boarded windows. George only caught sight of it because it was the middle of the night. Like a moth to a flame, George sought out the beacon of hope.

If George remembers correctly, he saw an angel that night. The man who opened the door to him could have killed him right there; by the way George stumbled up to the door and begged for help, he probably should have. 

But he didn’t. The details get blurry, but George remembers his eyes, the humanity in the way he looked down at him with a shotgun in his hand.

In the end, Sapnap got better, and they continued driving after George had taken them tragically off course.

It’s one of his happier memories.

-

They’re here.

Pulling up to the house, George already has a bad feeling about this. The entrances are partially boarded up, but other than the intermittent groan of a zombie, there’s no sign of life in the place. If he’s reading Sapnap right, neither of them are feeling very hopeful.

Sapnap has to pry the door open for them to get in, and then, they wander around. George shouts, as loudly as he dares, “Dream?”

No response.

It stinks in here. The place is trashed, ripped wallpaper, broken furniture, and the floor is littered with garbage and rotten food. George could count at least five different organisms that aren’t human currently living in this house, and none of them are Dream. If he has been here in the past week, he’s done a poor job of showing it.

Sapnap searches the rooms while George steps over a godforsaken corpse as he steps into the kitchen. It’s in a similar state as the rest of the house, but something catches his eye before he leaves–a piece of paper, stabbed into the broken kitchen table by a knife.

George reads it and just to be sure, reads it again. Then, he calls for, “Sapnap?”

“What?”

The note says, in rushed, uneven letters, _I’m heading West. Looking for you two. Stay safe._ George hands it over and watches Sapnap’s face grow darker as he reads.

“He’s not here,” Sapnap says. He throws his arms up. “Fuck! He’s not here.”

Okay, they haven’t found Dream. That is pretty awful news, but the good? The good in this is, they haven’t found Dream’s dead body along the way either. If he bailed on his house and found somewhere else to stay, that means he’s still out there. George tells Sapnap this and receives a long sigh in return.

The air is heavy with disappointment.

They could follow the tire prints in the dirt outside, the trail of human and animal bodies, the bullet shells left behind, every little sign of life as they backtrack. But George is looking at Sapnap, and he looks so defeated, clutching the note like it’s all he has left.

“We’re not stopping,” George says. It’s all he can do. “We’ll find him.”

Sapnap takes a minute to respond, frowning at the ground, “Yeah... Yeah, I guess we will.”

-

So they begin heading westward _again_ , following any tracks that say, a person was probably here at some point. After all that fruitless excitement earlier, this is soulless work. They’re both feeling shitty.

Sapnap pulls over at noon to make use of the daylight and cook food. In theory, this is an uneventful activity.

But–

The problem with being with someone all hours of the day is it’s fucking suffocating. You grow too familiar with each other, and familiarity begets conflict of interest. Sapnap has a few bad qualities, but they only get amplified the more George deals with them. He likes to spit everywhere, he mumbles nonsense in his sleep really loudly, he cuts his nails with a knife and sprinkles it everywhere like he’s fertilizing the fucking weeds or something, he’s a hothead who’s only happy when things go how he wants them to. George is the same way.

What George means is, it’s a little surprising they went this long before they got into a fight.

It starts the same way most things do: George can’t help himself. Sapnap messes up starting a fire twice, and George shoves his hands aside and blurts out, “Let me do it. You’re kinda useless.”

It’s harsh, but Sapnap normally brushes off harsh. Today, his eyes snap up to George, who chooses to look at the not-fire instead. “It’s not like you can start a fire any better.”

He tries, and the dry wind blows out two matches before they catch on the kindling. George throws the box of matches down. “Whatever. You’re the one that normally does the fires anyways.”

“Then maybe I _am_ useful.”

“Clearly, neither of us can start a fire. At least I know how to read a map.”

“What’s your problem?” Sapnap stands up, so George does too. “Why are we fighting right now?”

“I’m just tired of you always trying to prove yourself. You think starting a fire makes you more of a man?”

“You think I’m doing this to feel good about myself? And not because I don’t want us to die?”

George scoffs, “It’s not your job to keep me alive. I can do that on my own.”

“You know what? Fine,” Sapnap says, which is not what George expected to hear. He walks away and starts packing everything back into the car while he continues, “You always try to start shit, George. I’m so sorry I’m not fucking good enough for you, but you don’t need to constantly make it my problem. Instead of pissing me off, why don’t you just crawl somewhere and rub one out to him? That’ll make you feel better.”

“Stop,” George says. He’s following Sapnap around, and he grabs Sapnap’s arm at that. It makes Sapnap stop what he’s doing and turn to him, can of beans in hand.

“You wish Dream was here anyway. I bet if he was, you wouldn’t even bother looking for me. You would rather it be him starting your fires, chauffeuring you around, sucking your–”

George punches Sapnap in the face. It lands with a loud sound of bone breaking.

Sapnap stares at him, eyes wide. There’s blood on his face and on George’s knuckles, and George might have broken his own hand. He doesn’t care.

“Shut the fuck up,” George says. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sapnap touches his nose, looks at the blood on his hand. He laughs bitterly and says, “It’s always him.”

And then he turns away, climbing into the car and making sure to slam the door before he drives off.

George doesn’t move from where he’s rooted in the ground. He watches the trail of dust behind the car as it grows more and more distant until his knees give out below him, and he collapses.

-

The good in this is, fuck Sapnap, who needs him. It’s not like they’ve spent the past two months together or that they’re unintentionally codependent. George will just walk the rest of the way across America, and he’ll find Dream, and then Sapnap’ll be sorry.

George almost wants to laugh at himself.

-

Sapnap does come back, shortly after George has sprawled down on the ground and resigned himself to his fate. George hears the hum of the engine before he turns to see a very familiar car being driven down the road by a very familiar person. 

“I left for like four hours, why do you look like such shit?” is how Sapnap chooses to greet him.

“Fuck you, your nose is crooked,” George says. He ignores Sapnap’s outstretched hand and pushes himself up onto his feet.

“Yeah, you didn’t have to hit me that hard.”

Sapnap looks at him expectantly, so George mumbles, “Sorry, I guess.”

“God, George, you suck sometimes, you know that?”

-

The sun sets, and the two of them are engulfed in darkness in the car. George can’t see Sapnap’s face anymore, but he chooses not to look over anyways.

“Let’s pull over for the night,” Sapnap suggests, breaking the silence. When George doesn’t say anything, he does pull the car over, tucked behind a building and invisible in the night. “I’ll take first watch.”

George swallows his pride. “Wait.”

“What?”

George switches on the overhead lights, and suddenly, they’re staring at each other. Surprised, George manages a, “Hi.”

“What?”

“Let me fix your nose.”

Sapnap raises an eyebrow, “You sure you’re not gonna make it worse?”

“How much worse can it get?”

“George!”

With Sapnap’s assent, George reaches forward, cupping Sapnap’s face and taking his nose between his thumbs. “This is gonna hurt.”

“It already does.”

“You might look better with a crooked nose,” George tries to joke. Sapnap doesn’t look too amused.

George takes a deep breath and pushes his fingers. Sapnap’s nose sets with a horrible crunch, and he shouts, “Fuck!”

Fuck indeed. His eyes shine, reflecting the shitty car light. George wipes away his tears. 

They’re alone here. George could probably afford a bit more honesty. 

“Hey,” George says, “I’m sorry.”

Sapnap averts his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I–” He wishes he could say what Sapnap wants to hear, that he would pick him over Dream anyday to be stranded in a car with. George says, “You’re important to me. I’m happy you’re here.”

Sapnap smiles, so maybe it’s enough. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I guess I’m sorry too.”

They stay like that for a while, Sapnap looking up at him while George holds Sapnap’s face and nose. Sapnap says, grin widening, “You should kiss me better, doc.”

“Idiot,” George says, his voice disgustingly tender.

-

This is the way George sees it. Dying is nothing special. Everyone dies. It’s the inevitability everyone faces, the one certainty. Why count on dying when it’s gonna happen regardless? Dying isn’t special; it’s who you do the dying with that counts. If you’re lucky, you die with someone that matters.

George can count the number of people he’d want to die with on two hands. If you exclude all the ones who are probably dead, he’d only need one.

If Sapnap really wants to know, that’s why he can’t stop chasing Dream’s shadow.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know if theres a tag/warning i should add
> 
> +comments make me happy :)


End file.
